


where best friends are made

by thedevil_andgod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Build A Bear, Crack, Human AU, M/M, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas hides a smile.<br/>'You want the child to cry?' He asks, raising an eyebrow at the shorter man, clearly becoming more frustrated with the situation as it continued.<br/>Sophia gives Dean those damn puppy-dog eyes, <em>again</em>. He sighs. Curling his fingers around the tiny, satin heart, and ignoring the blatant stares he attracts, he lifts one leg, hopping in a circle three times, while repeating the mantra. 'I promise to take care of my bear, I promise to take care of my bear, I promise to take care of my bear.'<br/>--<br/>In which Dean brings his niece to Build-A-Bear for her birthday, and ends up regretting it almost immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where best friends are made

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer; do not own supernatural and all of that. prompt; 'you're an assistant at build a bear and you keep making me do increasingly stupid things with the heart before i can put it in my bear' from alloftheprompts on tumblr.*
> 
> *Edited the prompt a little. Hope you enjoy!

'Dean, look! They have pandas!' Sophia tugs on her uncles hand, dragging him further into the store, towards the far end of the workshop. The yellow wall is ridiculously bright, with a band of red dissecting it horizontally. The garish colours, mixed with the high-pitched, chirpy melody playing across the loudspeakers, is enough to give Dean a pounding headache, already. A row of bins filled with floppy, stuffing-less animal plushies line the back wall. Immediately, Dean's niece slash goddaughter, dives into one, headfirst.  
She plucks a black-and-white, limp pile of fake fur into her hands, inspecting it with (hilarious) seriousness. She holds it up, to the light, purses her lips tightly, narrows her molten-brown eyes.  
Dean just shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing around the room, full to the brim with over-excited children, exhausted, frazzled-looking parents and/or guardian, and even a few giggling teenagers picking out matching bears. Dean wrinkles his nose; he could almost taste the sickening adoration that was practically oozing from the pair, standing far too close together than they needed to. Sophia distracts him, by shoving her chosen pile of fur into his hands and beaming up at him, all toothy-smile and shiny eyes. 'This one, pleas.'  
Dean glances at the panda, gazing up at him through black, glassy marbles, a stitched on smile curving the edge of the lines meant to represent the mouth. He shakes it, gingerly, as though it may contain some sort of bomb. Checking to make sure the youngster is certain of her choice, he allows her to lead him to the stuffing machine, a large, noisy piece of machinery that daunts him a little. Sophia insists on being the one to fill the toy up, seizing the nozzle in her tiny hands, and shoving it into the hole at the back. She happily stuffs the panda until it's belly is round and firm, getting a little stuffing-happy, Dean has to practically wrestle the nozzle cord from her grip – and _seriously_ , how the hell is a seven-year old girl almost stronger than him? - reminding her that, should she use too much, her beloved 'Rory' would explode. He asks about the name, thinking it rather strange, and a little generic, for a vividly imaginative child such as herself.  
She explains, excitement taking hold and running her mouth too fast for Dean to understand the majority of what she's telling him. He does, however, catch the words 'Doctor Who', and so it is safe for him to assume that it's a character from the British TV show. 

Approaching the next counter, this time yellow and blue, a tired looking man, in or around Dean's age, dressed in the uniform, wearing a name tag.  
'Hi! My name is Castiel.'  
Weird name, Dean thinks, but says nothing. Sophia thrusts the panda up onto the table and smiles at the man, who brightens visibly. Dean looks at the man, suddenly mesmerised by the color of his eyes. They're blue- no, no. Blue doesn't do justice in describing the intense, aqua-turquoise-teal orbs the man – Castiel – has.. He gets so caught up in trying to think of an adequate colour to match to these stunning eyes that he doesn't realise they're staring right at him, or that those perfect, shell-coloured, cupid's bow lips are speaking to him until Sophia stands on his foot – and _what the fuck how is she so HEAVY she weighs like ten pounds_ \- effectively bringing him back to reality.  
He clears his throat, glancing away from the piercing stare he's being given, cheeks flushing slightly.  
(That's just because this store is incredibly freakin' hot, he tells himself, firmly. It's just this side of too warm and that is why my cheeks are red.) 

'Would you like to explain to Dean, or shall I?'  
'You do it!' The sandy-haired eight year old is almost shuddering with excitement, hands clasped together tightly, smiling as though it's christmas AND her birthday all come at once.  
Dean side-eyes her before glancing back to Castiel. He's smiling, a little too mischievously for Dean to be entirely comfortable with – suddenly, his throat is tight and panic overwhelms him.  
Castiel stretches out is arm, and Dean almost squeaks. (Almost. Only almost.)  
The arm is tanned and veiny, and muscular, but in a lean kind of a way- in other words, in the kind of way that causes all the blood in Dean's body to rush south. Which _has_ to be all types of wrong, seeing as he's in a goddamn teddy bear shop, so he bites his lip and focuses on the red slip of satin sitting in the palm of the worker's hand. It's a little heart, and he stares down at it.  
'You have to kiss it.'  
Dean's head jerks upwards, almost painfully, at Castiel's words.  
'I- you- what?' He stutters out, incredulously. Next to him, his devilish niece giggles and nudges him. 'C'mon, Dean, please?' He looks at her, and fuck, he should have known better because he's being assaulted with those damn puppy-dog eyes for the _second_ time, and now she's batting her eyelashes in a way that has Dean succumbing to her request within seconds.  
Swallowing thickly, he plucks the heart from Castiel's palm, holding it between his finger and thumb. The satin is smooth, and warm from the previous' holders warmth, and Dean's fingers slide over the soft fabric. Glancing from side-to-side, to ensure no-one is watching, he ducks his head, quick as you like, and presses the fastest kiss in all of history to the heart.  
He coughs a little to clear his own awkwardness away, before attempting to hand the stupid thing back to Mr. Gorgeous. (And, okay, when did he start calling strangers 'gorgeous'?)  
And Mr. Gorgeous is clearly some kind of complete dickhead because he shakes his head and informs Dean that the ritual is not complete.  
'What ritual?' Dean asks, bewildered, not sure if this is something all the adults have to do, or if _Castiel_ is just fucking with him. Either way, his question is ignored, and he is told that now, he must hold it against his heart and recite the build-a-bear motto, out loud.  
He stares at the man across from him, who is stoic and stiff, and grits his teeth before doing as he's told. Only for Sophia.  
Ge finishes off the stupid spiel with the slogan 'Where Best Friends Are Made!'  
He says it with all the enthusiasm of a man entering a doctor's office to have his monthly colonoscopy, but hey, he said it. 

Desperately, he holds the heart out again, only to feel his own sinking as it is declined once more.  
'There's one more thing you have to do.'  
Dean listens to Mr. Gorgeous Douchebag explaining his final task. By the end, his jaw is hanging almost to the floor.  
Sophia is still giggling.  
'You're kidding me, right? There is no way that I-'  
His voice rises a few octaves, and he catches himself, before he can make a scene. Lowering his tone, he leans over the desk, coming close to Castiel. 'There is no way that I am going to make a fool of myself, anymore than I already have. Okay?' Then, there's a tiny sniffle from beside him. He curses silently, taking in the shaking form of his niece, who is pouting at him, eye's wide and glittering. For the love of- 

Cas hides a smile.  
'You want the child to cry?' He asks, raising an eyebrow at the shorter man, clearly becoming more frustrated with the situation as it continued.  
Sophia gives Dean those damn puppy-dog eyes, _again_. He sighs. Curling his fingers around the tiny, satin heart, and ignoring the blatant stares he attracts, he lifts one leg, hopping in a circle three times, while repeating the mantra. 'I promise to take care of my bear, I promise to take care of my bear, I promise to take care of my bear.'  
Unable to hold back anymore, Castiel falls about with laughter, covering his mouth with his hand as a snort forces it's way out.  
Dean is so red, so embarrassed, and so frustrated that he's practically got steam erupting from both ears. Sophia is also laughing, fake tears already wiped from her features as she enjoys her uncle's humiliation. Spectators are pointing, and Dean glares, but, considering what has just unfolded, it isn't very threatening. 

He stuffs the stupid heart into the stupid's bears back and hands it over to another worker, who is also laughing, to sew the stupid thing up.  
He pays for the stupid thing and even purchases a stupid little outfit, because Sophia is just a little kid, and it is her birthday, so he lets her pick out a friggin' centurion outfit – complete with sword and all, and he's not too sure that Sam will be happy about that, but screw it – before sending one last blood-chilling glare over to Mr. _Gorgeous, Douchebag, Castiel_ before he leaves. 

Sophia is still laughing over her milkshake and chicken nuggets in McDonalds, and Dean is stuffing his face with a Quarter Pounder because dammit he deserves it after what he's just been through. 'Yeah, yeah, I get it, kid. It was hilarious. Let's all make fun of stupid Uncle Dean.'  
She chokes on her milkshake as another wave of laughter takes hold, and Dean panics, lunging for her, ready to do the Heimlich or something- and then there's pink, frothy liquid spattered across his tee shirt. Of course, today would be the day he wore his favorite AC/DC one, and now it is ruined with McDonalds goo. 'This day just gets better and better.' He grimaces, taking a handful of napkins and dabbing at the stains, wiping them away the best he could. He sighs, and drops his head, holding it between his hands as he takes a breath.  
Sophia finishes her nuggets, and ask if they can go back home now. She informs Dean that, instead of a birthday cake, she's having pie, because pie is so much better, and his spirits lift just a little. He grins across the table and nods. 'Sure thing, honey. C'mon- we got a pie waiting for us.' He winks, and Sophia grins. 

They're approaching the doors when Sophia halts Dean in his tracks and points towards the ladies. 'I need to pee.' Dean looks at her, then to the door labelled 'Womens', then back to his niece. He's not too sure about letting her go in there alone, and he can't go in with her. Nor can he drag her into the mens, so he asks if she can hold it until they get back to her house. She shakes her head, beginning to hop from one foot to the other; a sure sign that she is seconds away from losing all bladder control. Dean relents, and she dashes away at sonic speed, disappearing behind the door. Dean bites his lip again, waiting anxiously for her return. 

Something warm and solid crashes into his side, sending him stumbling forward a few steps. He turns, irritated, a sharp 'Watch where you're going!' waiting on his tongue; but the words melt away when he catches sight of oh,so familiar sky blue eyes, lighter than they had appeared to be earlier, but still, the same eyes, without a doubt.  
'Oh, Dean. I apologise. I wasn't looking where I was going.'  
Dean is still speechless, a flurry of emotions circling his head. He really, really wants to punch the guy – he had made him a laughing stock in front of a store full of people (people who most likely had camera phones and web data and oh, god, he was probably tallying up hits on YouTube right _now_ ) - and yet, he found himself also wanting to take the time to sit and study those eyes, use some paint charts or something, to find a match, to see if there even was one. He's never seen a bluer blue. (bluer's not a word, his inner voice snarks at him, but frankly, he doesn't give a damn.)

'Dean? Are you okay? Are you mad about earlier? I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist.'  
Snapping out of his reverie, he exhales heavily and shakes his head, unconsciously clapping the taller man on the shoulder. 'It's fine, man. Made the kid laugh, so, it's okay.'  
Castiel appears to relax, as though he were genuinely worried about whether or not he had upset Dean.  
'Well, you were a good sport.' Cas says. (Woah, where did Cas come from? His name is Castiel.) Again, Dean ignores his irritating inner voice and smiles, taking the time to properly give the man a once-over. His hair is a dark brown, like bitter chocolate, tousled, like he's just rolled out of his bed, his lips smooth and shell-pink, those blue, blue eyes staring intensely into his own emerald-greens. His cheekbones should be classed as lethal weapons, and Dean doesn't think he's ever seen a more well-defined jaw line in his entire life. 'I'm glad I caught up with you, I never got the chance to talk to you after your..performance.' Cas smiles that mischievous smile again, the one that wakes the butterflies in Dean's stomach up and makes his knees go weak. He glares again, but this time, it's warm and all in good favor.  
'I was hoping that maybe, we could see each again?'

Dean pauses. 'Well, I don't think I'll be making a return visit to that store any time soon.' He jokes- well, he sounds like he's joking, there's an underlying chuckle in the words.. but there is no way on this earth that he'd ever voluntarily set foot in there again.  
'I was thinking in a more casual setting. Perhaps a bar? Or a restaurant?' The darker-haired man pushes gently, eyeing Dean carefully for his reaction. 

His eyes glow a little brighter and he winks playfully, asking, 'You try'na ask me out here, Cas?'  
Castiel starts a little at the nickname, then simply nods, never lifting his eyes from Dean's. 'Yes, I suppose I am.'  
'You name the time, date, and place- and I'll be there.' Dean promises, watching as Castiel smiles wider and flushes, faintly. The tinge of red travels down Castiel's neck, disappearing beneath his work shirt, Dean notes with glee. Oh, he'd have such _fun_.. 

Suddenly, a small hand tugs at his. 'Can we go home now? I want pie.'  
Dean had completely forgotten about Sophia, guilt flooding his system as he hands over her bright yellow bag, the panda poking out slightly over the top. 'Of course, sweetheart.'  
Cas sticks a hand into his trouser packet, rooting for a second, before flourishing a blue pen, taking Dean's wrist for a few brief, wonderful moments. His fingertips are soft and warm around Dean's hairy wrist, the nib of the pen pressing against the fragile membrane of skin covering the top of his hand. 'Call me.' Cas winks, and Dean smirks, pulling his soon-to-be date close, close enough so that he can whisper in the other man's ear.  
'And next time? I'll be the one making you blush. Promise.' Dean's voice is husky, and his teeth drag, very intentionally, lightly over Cas' earlobe, before he turns and takes Sophia's hand, leaving a rather flustered build-a-bear employee in his wake.


End file.
